Pathway to Japanese Literature

To call him O-Nara-sama was not to speak of Nara's Great Buddha.
Using the Nara kanji was fundamentally improper; however, since this represented the man's own earnest wish to have those characters applied, disregarding even that wish would be too cruel to bear.

O-Nara-sama served as head priest of a certain temple, though for some reason he had been born with excessive flatulence.
His digestive system appeared no different from others'—he remained remarkably robust and plump—yet he had reportedly passed gas ceaselessly since birth, his flatulence never resting even in sleep.
While less frequent when awake, the simultaneous emission of thunderous snores and resonant flatulence was said to be a rarity scarcely witnessed among ordinary people.
By his own account, releasing one fart per minute for an hour proved easier than suppressing them for ten minutes straight.

A priest’s profession is to chant sutras. However, this sutra chanting being a communion with the Pure Land—perhaps because his soul wandered celestial realms—his flatulence gained such fluidity that it streamed forth unimpeded in an unbroken chain. While monthly and annual memorial services posed no issue, funerals and wakes were another matter; with many attendees weeping, excessive noise would be ill-timed. Yet he could not chant sutras while clenching to contain his flatulence, so he naturally resigned himself. Lately, having attained mental maturity, he became able to release flatulence unreservedly—in the sense of consoling those bathed in tears.

In his younger, less seasoned days, even passing through parishioners' gates would set his heart racing. Since people spoke of him behind his back as "O-Nara-sama," he had no choice but to announce himself upon arriving at their entryways: "Good day. I am O-Nara-sama," and steel himself to enter—an ordeal he endured. There were indeed silent nights when he would resign himself to despair, secretly swallowing bitter tears over his own fate, and years spent in anguished prayer—prayers offered with a heartrending intensity, if only to have those characters of Nara applied to his name.

Because of his condition, various extraordinary expenses mounted. This was because not all parishioners welcomed his O-Nara; there were those who found the loud emissions during funerals and wakes distressing, so on such occasions, as the leading priest, he would line up an excessive number of attendant monks in multiple rows behind himself to construct a pillbox for soundproofing. Fortunately, his sect’s sutra chanting involved abundant use of wooden fish, gongs, and other instruments, so during large-scale ceremonies, the music and chorus provided complete soundproofing. This unnecessary expense for the monks had to be borne by him himself. Moreover, unlike funerals, sutra chanting at wakes could not involve deploying a large number of monks; only instruments like the wooden fish were used, and with both the deceased and the weeping mourners drawing near to him as if clinging close, soundproofing measures were nearly impossible. Therefore, except for particularly well-disposed parishioners, he had to have substitutes conduct the wakes, so in such cases, profits decreased. With expenses mounting and profits dwindling, it followed that reaching maturity of mind required long, sorrowful years.

The elderly mother of the Haruyama Tōshichi household was very favorably disposed toward him.
On the death anniversary of her late husband, after the sutra chanting concluded and he had partaken in the meal, he was summoned to the matriarch’s sickroom.
The matriarch had been bedridden with a stroke for seven years.
When he sat down at the matriarch’s bedside,

“…………”

The matriarch said something.
Her face was half-contorted, rendering her words nearly unintelligible.
When he pressed his ear close to her face to listen properly,

"I do not have much longer myself."
"Before long, I shall have the honor of receiving both sutra chanting and flatulence from you, O-Nara-sama."

The matriarch had said this.
Haruyama Tōshichi, seated on one side of the bedside, had been able to discern it, but being unaccustomed to the matriarch’s manner of speech, he once again failed to catch her words.
So,

“Yes. Honorable Matriarch. I am truly sorry. Please let me hear it once more,” he said.

At that moment, as the matriarch pressed her hands together at her chest, breathed through her shoulders, and strained to gather strength in her throat—all to prepare for speaking loudly and clearly—O-Nara-sama, having focused every ounce of his attention on listening in that direction, seemed to have completely released his usual containment, letting out a truly, truly enormous fart.

It seemed the containment had been fully released, for the gust stretched and stretched, sounding as long as a harbor foghorn.

Then, the matriarch began to rub her chest with her hands—still pressed together—in a tangled, restless motion.
Then, closing her mouth, she opened her eyes wide; next, closing her eyes, she opened her mouth.
That was her last act.
The matriarch drew her last breath.

“Honorable Matriarch.”
“Honorable Matriarch.”
“Excuse me, Honorable Matriarch.”

O-Nara-sama, who had been repeatedly calling out to elicit a response from the matriarch, finally noticed something was wrong.
When he checked her pulse, there was none.

"Oh…"

He turned pale and instinctively drew up his knees, only to slump back down moments later as all color drained from his face.
No sound escaped him.
In that moment, he thought:
He had killed her.
Or at the very least, he felt certain his flatulence had accelerated her demise.

However, Tōshichi—who had been facing him and, taking his place, intently checking the matriarch’s pulse—quietly released her hand upon confirming her death, pressed his palms together in reverence to Buddha, and then turned toward him,

“Ah, thanks to your auspicious fart, the matriarch achieved a most serene passing.”
“A most serene passing, a perfect enlightenment.”
“I have never seen or heard of such a beautiful passing.”
“All of this is thanks to your fart.”
“Thank you very much.”

With his sincere heart showing plainly on his face, he smiled and expressed his gratitude.

Thus, O-Nara-sama unexpectedly managed to save face, and at wakes and funerals, his virtue was passed from mouth to mouth, allowing him to spend several unexpectedly splendid days where each fart was met with people’s admiration.

However, only Tōshichi’s wife Someko remained deeply displeased.
She served as PTA vice-president, maintained comfortable financial circumstances, ran a tea ceremony class for neighborhood girls, and was notoriously strict about etiquette.
She had long been vexed by Tōshichi’s boorish tendencies, but his excessive enthusiasm in praising the merits of flatulence-induced enlightenment finally pushed her beyond endurance.
From the matriarch’s funeral onward, marital discord erupted between them, escalating into fierce debates. With their daughters siding firmly with Someko, Tōshichi’s position grew increasingly precarious.
After the funeral concluded, the Haruyama family’s treatment of O-Nara-sama turned abruptly hostile, and Tōshichi—now ostracized—rarely appeared in public.
Ultimately, Someko delivered this ultimatum to O-Nara-sama.

“At this recent funeral, you magnificently launched farts to enliven the proceedings, allowing us to celebrate auspiciously—but I, for some reason, am of a disposition that prefers solemn moods during wakes and farewell ceremonies.”
“From the seventh-day memorial service onward, I shall have us solemnly honor the deceased in my own manner; therefore, during sutra chanting sessions, kindly refrain from flatulence.”
“Otherwise, I will have another priest take over.”

She delivered a harsh finishing blow.
Though the verbal thrust had pierced his heart, he could not drive home the final bolt into his usual containment.
Thus, after a tempest of unmerited praise, he found himself cast into unforeseen adversity—this became the cancer that would claim his life.

★

O-Nara-sama had a youngest child named Hanako, a junior high school second-year student.
However, Haruyama Tōshichi’s eldest daughter was called Itoko and was Hanako’s classmate.

Haruyama Itoko excelled in logic and debate, having been renowned since her elementary school days as the star of debate clubs. In elementary schools, homeroom teachers would change when welcoming new grades. By her fifth and sixth years, teachers had developed such a tendency to avoid being assigned to her class—referred to as "that orator's class"—that it became proverbial. She was feared as an even more formidable loudmouth than her mother Someko.

Now a second-year junior high student, Haruyama Itoko stood unchallenged as a titan in the realm of public discourse. Not only did she dominate school debates, but she actively sought platforms at neighborhood women's associations and street corners—wherever she directed her efforts, her opponents invariably showed consternation.

Itoko harbored an even greater dislike for O-Nara-sama than Someko did.
Immediately after the funeral, she had dashed from the burial hall to a private room and choked on tears of bitter frustration; now she burned with rage as though such uncouth practices were poisoning the world.
Someko’s anger had in truth been prone to provocation by Itoko.

From the start, she had already held beliefs like temperance advocacy and abolition of concubinage alongside anti-clericalism and religious reformation theories; thus her rage toward the flatulence that had defiled her grandmother’s funeral was immense.
Until that time, Itoko and Hanako hadn’t been what one would call close friends, but they had been on good terms.

The day after the funeral, Itoko returned to school and declared her severance of ties to Hanako in front of their classmates.

“Severing ties with you, the child, due to your father’s ‘sin’ may not align with reason, but in this case, I have chosen to prioritize emotion over reason.”
“As one who shares the bond of being the matriarch’s grandchild, I find it unbearable even to look upon your face.”
“It makes my skin crawl with revulsion.”

she declared with performative eloquence.
Such being the case, Hanako returned to the temple in tears.

O-Nara-sama had also just returned, having been dealt the final blow by Someko.
Had it been only his own finishing blow, he could have somehow managed it with a mature state of mind, but Hanako’s sorrow was an unexpected ambush that left him utterly disoriented.
As he stood at a loss without words to comfort his daughter, that cursed thing—as if seizing the moment—resounded loudly even now.
Four or five round, resonant eruptions thundered out in rapid succession, so Hanako burst into wails, dashed into her room, and collapsed into shuddering sobs.

"Well, well... This has become quite a predicament," he thought.
"I had always believed flatulence was something that merely made people laugh at you—not something that could make them cry—but now this karmic consequence has come to pass.
But considering my daughter’s position, it can’t be helped."

Determined not to let Hanako endure further sorrow, O-Nara-sama steeled his resolve, timed his move for after school hours, and intercepted Itoko at the school gate as she exited, engaging her in conversation.

“I am deeply ashamed for having defiled your esteemed family’s funeral on this occasion, but as that matter in particular holds no fault on my daughter’s part, I have come to humbly request that you continue associating with her as before…”

“I have already explained this matter to Ms. Hanako, but needless to say, Ms. Hanako bears no blame.”
“However, humans are creatures of emotion at heart—no matter how things may stand theoretically, there are times when something becomes emotionally unbearable.”
“Merely seeing Ms. Hanako brings your filthiness to mind, making my skin erupt in bubbles.”
“I believe severing ties is unavoidable.”

“What circumstances would lead you to grant forgiveness for the severance?”

“If you clearly demonstrate a transformation into someone of noble character and virtue befitting a priest, the problem will naturally resolve itself.”

“However—and I truly hesitate to say this—that matter stems from a congenital ailment I’ve borne since birth.”
“Regardless of how my character or virtue may be judged, for my part, I find myself fundamentally incapable of altering this condition.”

“That is your baseness.”
“We require propriety.”
“It is fundamentally necessary to suppress and restrain one’s own transgressions as a matter of principle.”
“Those who cannot accomplish that are barbarians.”
“You may think of flatulence as trivial, but cultured people deem it shameful.”
“It is precisely this attitude of dismissing it as ‘just flatulence’ that I find particularly unforgivable.”
“If we take it a step further to feces, even you would not do such a thing in public.”
“Depending on how the Minor Offenses Act is interpreted, your flatulence naturally deserves punishment—from cultured people’s standpoint, you cannot escape being deemed a criminal.”
“You merely take advantage of this lax era to escape legal punishment, like striptease performers do.”
“Especially unforgivable is your lowbrow shamelessness in styling yourself ‘O-Nara-sama’ and peddling flatulence—you are nothing but a beast.”
“No—you rank below beasts.”
“Because even beasts may fart, they do not peddle their farts as wares.”
“You—holding the solemn office of priest—peddle your farts before the deceased and grieving families...”

“My sincere apologies.”

And O-Nara-sama hurriedly fled.
This was not because he couldn’t bear to listen due to self-reproach, but rather because a fart was about to emerge.
If he were to release a fart there, there would be no hope of his daughter’s severed ties ever being mended; thus, he hurriedly apologized and dashed into a nearby alley.
Clinging to a utility pole along the spur line as if colliding with it, he relieved himself in rapid succession—unfortunately, beneath that very pole stood a small doghouse.
For within that doghouse lived a small, timid terrier mix—fiercely territorial only in front of its own home—which, panicked by the unexpected intruder, sank its teeth into O-Nara-sama’s leg.
The hem of his priestly robe became tattered, and O-Nara-sama sustained an injury to his leg.
In the midst of his desperate struggle, the dog’s owner’s wife appeared and restrained the animal,

“Are you injured?”

“No, this is my own doing—it was I who erred. I mistook the alley and jumped into it, you see. I was in a bit of a hurry, and oh dear—I must apologize for my rudeness.”

As if he himself had bitten the dog, he blushed, apologized in a flustered manner, and had to flee from this alley as well.

The injury was not severe, but the dog bite healed slowly and was accompanied by considerable dull pain. That night, he developed a slight fever and was tormented by nightmares time and again.

★

For the memorial services from the seventh day to the forty-ninth day, he had sent the substitute Kōtoku to pray for the deceased’s repose; yet, as the deceased had shown him special favor and he had, albeit unintentionally, been present at her final moments due to their karmic bond, entrusting it all to a substitute left him unsettled in spirit.
However, since he could not attend memorial services where people gathered, he chose a weekday, timed it for the morning after Itoko had gone to school, and set out to chant sutras.

“Though I deeply regret not attending the formal services for the deceased—who showed me such profound patronage and with whom I share no small karmic bond—I have been tormented by the fear of committing another indiscretion should I appear again.”
“Well, today—with the premises cleared of people—I have come here wishing to chant sutras without reservation... such is my present circumstance.”

“Even if you claim to have cleared the premises, as you can plainly see, young ladies attending tea ceremony practice fill the neighboring room—separated only by a paper sliding door.”

The Buddhist altar was in the family room.
The trouble was that this Buddhist altar stood in the spot closest to the neighboring room, making things difficult.
Noticing a gramophone in one corner of the family room,

“This is an excellent item here.”
“I will bring the gramophone close to my knees and chant sutras while playing it.”
“If we play a noisy record like jazz, the indiscretion likely won’t carry over to the next room.”
“Though the sutra’s voice may be drowned out, as they say it’s the thought that counts, I believe the deceased will understand.”

“In the neighboring room, everyone is quietly learning the tea ceremony.”
“How could we endure having jazz blaring through mere paper sliding doors?”
“Well now! What an unfeeling priest you are.”

Someko raised her eyebrows in fury.
At that moment, fortunately, Tōshichi happened to be present.

“Since you’ve kindly come, let us proceed this way.”
“We’ll move the deceased’s mortuary tablet and cremated remains to my inner living room, where you may pray for her repose without restraint.”
“Now then, please come.”

He guided O-Nara-sama to his own living room and carried the cremated remains and mortuary tablet.

“Today’s kindness for the deceased—I am truly grateful.”
“Since her final words were ‘I’ll soon depart for the next world, so I’ll have O-Nara-sama offer both sutras and farts for me,’ she must surely be rejoicing today.”
“This place being quite removed, please proceed without restraint.”

“Your words leave me both grateful and ashamed.”
“To you sir, who have ever granted me such generous words, I am profoundly thankful.”
“Pfft.”
“Pfft.”
“Pfft.”
“This is most indiscreet of—”

“Oh no.
“Please, do not hold back.”
“The deceased is pleased.”
“I, too, let out a slight—Pfft.”
“Pfft.”
“Pfft.”

“Oh.”
“Was that one just now me?”
“Truly, oh dear.”

“The one just now was me.”
“I too have a certain propensity for flatulence, you see.”
“Another one. Pfft.”
“Pfft.”
“Pfft.”
“This one’s also me.”

“I must admit I failed to recognize that.”

“In truth, I too am partly responsible for this recent matter.”
“Though not to the extent of O-Nara-sama, I too have long had a propensity for flatulence, so while I do not do it in public, at home I have been letting them out without reservation.”
“This is what my wife took issue with, you see.”
“In O-Nara-sama’s case, this is exceptional, but our flatulence tends to arise precisely at times when people find it unpleasant—during meals in particular, it frequently occurs.”
“For many years my wife has been frowning in displeasure, but I too have insisted that at least within our own home I should be allowed to pass gas without reservation, and until recently I had maintained that position.”
“However, ever since the matriarch’s funeral, I too, like O-Nara-sama, have been subjected to a flatulence ban, and have received a strict decree that even within my own home, I must not pass gas except when alone in my room.”
“In truth, my wife had long desired to issue this decree, and while she was waiting for the right timing, the incident involving O-Nara-sama occurred.”
“So using O-Nara-sama as a pretext, her real aim above all was to put a stop to my farts.”

“When you say that, it makes me so happy I could cry—but all of this stems from this unworthy monk’s own lack of virtue.”

“You do not know my wife’s true nature, so you cannot yet understand—but marital bonds appear strong yet are fragile.”
“To think it mere flatulence would be a grave error—I failed to realize that when my wife hated farts, she was hating not the farts but me.”
“True marital love cannot be expressed in words—it is exchanged through gazes, hearts connecting and merging in an instant.”
“In the same way, couples might slap hands or exchange farts and laugh together.”
“Farts are like those slapped hands—they are tools of marital affection.”
“Only through exchanging farts does a couple become truly wedded.”
“Yet my wife has never passed gas before me.”
“This makes her a truly fearsome woman.”
“I recognized that fear too late—mistakenly believing her restraint stemmed from modesty and refinement, I foolishly took pride in her never having farted.”
“When this flatulence ban unexpectedly befell me, I suddenly understood—to despise a husband’s farts is to despise the husband himself.”
“Marital love exists in that private realm where couples share what cannot be shown publicly. Physical relations are base instincts—crude expressions of need—but exchanging farts with shared smiles? That is love’s refined form.”
“A world where couples warm hearts through flatulence holds more refinement and depth than acquaintances savoring incense together.”
“An intimacy and tenderness too profound for words.”
“Truly infinite tenderness.”
“The quiet, boundless tenderness of blind spouses feeling their way into each other’s hearts.”
“This is the nature of marital flatulence.”
“Couples who don’t cherish each other’s farts aren’t truly married.”
“In short—my wife never loved me.”

Tōshichi looked down dejectedly.
While it was indeed a pitiful sight, O-Nara-sama had not yet fully grasped the profound truth he espoused.
For O-Nara-sama’s life had been too filled with shame over flatulence, and he found it difficult to grow accustomed to Tōshichi’s robust way of romanticizing it.

Indeed, at O-Nara-sama’s temple, though his wife and Hanako were reserved, they exchanged flatulence.
It wasn’t such a bad thing, but he didn’t feel it was something to be savored to that extent.
If one were to call it profound, the flatulence that women let out did have a somewhat profound air, but he had no memory of ever cherishing his wife’s flatulence in his heart with infinite affection.

What O-Nara-sama sympathized with most profoundly in that sorrow was the fact that Tōshichi had been subjected to a flatulence ban by his wife and children.
O-Nara-sama too had been dealt a final blow by Someko, but his wife and children did not impose a flatulence ban on him.
When I thought about what would happen if I were subjected to a flatulence ban, my heart felt crushed.
What a pitiable man.

Haruyama Tōshichi.

That man was the most tragic of tragic figures.
O-Nara-sama involuntarily sniffled,

"How pitiable.
Tears well up despite my years—pfft, pfft, pfft—most improper.
Someone like this unworthy monk is truly fortunate.
By committing improprieties wherever I go, I have come to clearly understand both my own fortune and my own ineptitude."

O-Nara-sama wiped his tears, chanted sutras for the deceased, and returned to the temple.

★

From that evening onward, O-Nara-sama thought deeply.
Even though there existed someone subjected to a flatulence ban within their own home, he felt with profound conviction that this self-indulgence of releasing farts without discretion was unforgivable.
He called his wife over,

“The truth is... When I heard that Mr. Tōshichi had been subjected to a flatulence ban, I too ended up crying along. What I came to deeply realize is that while there are people who cannot even release flatulence in their own homes, I myself cannot bear the self-indulgence of releasing flatulence at a wake. It is only natural that Miss Itoko is angry. Though I am a Head Priest of solemn standing, it was said that one who feels no shame releasing flatulence before a grieving family in tears is inferior even to a beast—but even if those words came from a thirteen-year-old girl, their truth has pierced me to my core. Well then—I must avoid releasing flatulence in public at all costs, but I wonder if there’s any way to manage it through food selection.”

“On the night we married, you said something like that too, but it didn’t work out, did it? Flatulence isn’t due to food. After all, it’s just the sound of wind—even simply inhaling air could result in flatulence, and that might actually make it come out more easily. You should probably give up. Everyone already understands.”

“No—that understanding itself pains me. To presume upon their tolerance would make one inferior even to beasts—this truth has pierced me to my core. Anyway... I’ll endeavor to try.”

From the next day onward, he began gradually dieting, and whenever he stepped outside, he endeavored to remain vigilant against flatulence at all times, treating the entire world as his enemy.
His stomach began aching with a sharp pain.
A flatulence threatened to escape through his mouth.
Greasy sweat seeped across his forehead.
His feet left the ground.
When it became unbearable, he would hide in an alley devoid of people and dogs and release it in full.
In the end, it seemed no different from before since he still released it, but day by day, his complexion grew pallid, he became thinner, and he truly lost his appetite.
Somehow losing strength, half-suppressed yawns kept escaping uncontrollably.
Then the flatulence would emerge alongside them—though showing no discernible difference from before—while his skin sagged and his emaciation became pronounced.
His wife, worried,

“Is something the matter? You’ve lost so much vigor.”

“It’s nothing serious—I’ve just been minding that fart business when I’m out and about.”

“I hadn’t noticed that.”
“You mustn’t push yourself too hard like that.”

“No.”
“I’m not overexerting myself.”
“In the end, I’m still letting them out, so there should be no difference from before.”

“Yes.”
“It’s because you’re straining yourself that’s causing the problem.”
“And holding in farts even for five or ten minutes is terribly harmful, you know.”
“Please stop holding them in starting today.”

“You see, somehow, it’s become habitual lately that my farts won’t come out naturally until they’ve built up to a certain volume.”
“Even at home, it’s the same.”
“When it gets stuck all the way up to my throat and I desperately try to gulp it down forcefully, suddenly—as if a passage has opened—the fart comes out in an erratic manner.”
“Just when I’m about to get dizzy and collapse, the passage finally opens.”

“This is troubling.”
“If you had the doctor examine you.”

“It likely won’t be cured by medicine.”
“This must be the punishment for a lifetime of farting indiscriminately.”
“My farts are acceptable as they are, but let me hear yours.”

“Why?”

“Because Mr. Tōshichi said so.”
“The farts exchanged between spouses contain a more profound marital affection than appreciating incense—or so he says.”

“Hmm, well...”
“I don’t know about profound.”
“I like listening to your farts.”
“People who don’t fart no longer seem like men to me.”
“It’s a strange thing, isn’t it?”

“Is that infinite affection?”

“It might be.”
“If I had to choose, I preferred your farts over your words.”
“Words have too many meanings—even yours make me feel resentful or silly, so I can’t feel close to them.”
“Then you go telling such obvious lies.”
“Farts don’t do any of that.”

“I see.”
“That’s it.”
Hmm.
We were happy.
We were a true married couple.
Hmm.
Ugh.

O-Nara-sama clawed at his chest.
Oil sweat was trickling down from the forehead.
His eyes rolled back, and he collapsed onto his back into the arms of the wife as she held him.
And just like that, he drew his last breath.